


Care for Music

by calico_fiction



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, Comment Fic, Gen, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, No Dialogue, Self-Discovery, Sexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:27:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28502217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calico_fiction/pseuds/calico_fiction
Summary: Maybe Dean could have stayed a perfectly broken-in storage case to keep John’s trauma and expectations in mint condition. Maybe he could have held Sam’s too, when the time came. Maybe all his own shit could have stayed so buried underneath theirs that Dean never even got to look at it. Maybe he could have died alone after a fight with some monster in a town that never knew him.But that doesn’t happen.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 3
Kudos: 22





	Care for Music

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ftmsteverogers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ftmsteverogers/gifts).



Here’s how it happens.

Sam leaves. He goes to college or he runs away, whichever words you like better, but the point is that he leaves Dean alone with John.

It’s not bad. ( _It’s not bad,_ he tells himself, lying awake in bed at night, in the shower in the morning, choking down another burger for breakfast on the road. _It’s not bad._ )

It’s just that without Sam around it’s so much quieter. Without Sam around Dean is so much lonelier. Without Sam around Dean realizes that John never talks to him. It’s just long stretches of silence in between orders. And Dean is sad, but his sadness is silent too. It never announces itself, it just settles right in ‘cause Dean fits it _just right,_ the same way he fits Daddy’s second-best guns.

Maybe it could have gone on that way forever. Maybe Dean could have stayed a perfectly broken-in storage case to keep John’s trauma and expectations in mint condition. Maybe he could have held Sam’s too, when the time came. Maybe all his own shit could have stayed so buried underneath theirs that Dean never even got to look at it. Maybe he could have died alone after a fight with some monster in a town that never knew him.

But that doesn’t happen.

Dean acts out. Just a little. Just the tiniest bit. If Sam had still been around, it would have been imperceptible in comparison - but then again if Sam had still been around Dean wouldn’t have done it. It doesn’t even matter what he does. Maybe he talks back. Maybe he puts his feet on the dash. Maybe he suggests they take a break. Or maybe he just switches the radio station without asking. All that really matters is that Dean pokes his toe out of line.

John’s a sonuvabitch, but he’s not a monster. (He is a monster, he’s just human too, and Dean has been taught that only monsters are monsters.) He’s not a monster, so Dean’s punishment is swift and brief. Maybe he hits him once. Maybe he insults his worth. Maybe he leaves him in the motel without any food or money or I.D. for an hour, but doesn’t tell him it’ll only be an hour. (If it was that one, John wouldn’t have known it would only be an hour. He wouldn’t have premeditated it. He would have just stormed out and left his son near helpless thoughtlessly. He would have only come back because he wasn’t angry anymore.) But after the punishment is over John is still frustrated. So they go to a bar.

It’s not a different kind of bar than they usually go to. It’s John’s usual place. He’s not a regular because they just got here, and they’ll leave tomorrow or the day after - but that’s the only reason.

But Dean is so lonely, and so sad, and he’s so silent inside that even the noise of the bar quiets down when it reaches him.

And there’s this prettyboy at the bar. And maybe he’s there with a woman, or maybe he’s there with a man, or maybe he’s there with a group of friends, or maybe he just took himself out for a drink after his office job or his lecture that ran late. He’s nothing magical. His hair doesn’t shine in the dim yellow lights, there’s no mirror over the bar for him to catch Dean’s eye in, he’s got on a t-shirt and jeans. But he’s smiling and he’s laughing and he’s drinking some drink with a garnish and the bartender knows him, and the lumberjacks and the bikers don’t pay him any mind except to be friendly. Hell, maybe they know him too.

And the silence inside Dean yawns and stretches and reaches until it comes up against the boundaries of him, against his closed lid and the padlock - and it _clangs._

Dean _wants._

So here’s how it happens.

Dean suffers his own silence for a few more weeks, or months. A few more hunts. A few more bars. There isn’t another prettyboy, or maybe there is, but there doesn’t need to be. And then finally - laying awake in bed at night, in the shower in the morning, choking down another burger for breakfast on the road again - Dean says to himself: I want more than this.

He waits for John to get drunk. After he has dragged his father back to their motel and tucked him into his bed, Dean goes outside and he hides behind the vending machine and he calls Sam. He doesn’t know what to say or how to say it, so he just asks Sam about Stanford. What’s it like, what is he studying, what are the girls like. And maybe at first Sam had wanted to be pissy but Dean is being genuine and it’s nice to finally be able to talk about himself without having to defend every word so he talks. But when Sam is done Dean doesn’t make a sound.

“Dean?” Sam asks, because he knows something is happening he just doesn’t know what. Dean presses himself hard into the corner where the vending machine meets the concrete wall, hard enough to hurt. He doesn’t break his silence, not then, but Sam says, “Okay. Tell me later.”

That’s step one.

Step two: Dean runs away. Except it’s not really ‘running away’ is it, when you’re a grown man. But that’s what it feels like. He leaves John a note. Maybe he says he doesn’t want to be a hunter anymore. Maybe he says he can’t. Maybe he makes excuses, or maybe he doesn’t. He doesn’t give his reasons because he doesn’t know what they are. He just knows that he wants to go to a bar and smile and laugh and maybe even dance, maybe kiss someone and like it. He says he’s sorry.

(He doesn’t beg John to still love him. He knows John doesn’t love him.)

He calls Sam and tells him that he ran away. Sam doesn’t know what to say, but he says Dean can crash with him whenever he needs to.

Dean hustles enough money for a cross country bus ride. He goes somewhere with a nice long summer. Maybe California. Maybe Tennessee. He gets a job at a bar and he likes it and he gets to know the regulars. He sings along with the music while he works. The mechanic with the salt-and-pepper beard gestures for a refill and when Dean goes over to top him off he says, “You got a real pretty voice, doll,” and Dean likes it.

And maybe it’s that mechanic who takes Dean home and makes love to him. Or maybe it’s some other guy. Maybe one of his coworkers at the bar, or maybe someone he met at the grocery store or the record shop. Maybe it’s him who introduces Dean to his producer, or maybe it’s the fiery front runner of the live band one night, blowing bubbles in her cinnamon gum after the show.

Maybe he makes country music, or maybe it’s acoustic rock. He sings about monsters, and sometimes the monsters are human too. Sometimes he is the monster. But sometimes he’s not.

Dean’s not a huge hit but he sells enough records to make a comfortable living. He quits his job at the bar, but he still goes back every now and then for a drink after a recording session that ran late. The new bartender knows him, and so do the lumberjacks and the bikers.

And then there's a man who comes into the bar. Maybe he's a normal guy, taking himself for a beer at a new place after a stressful day at the office. Or maybe he's a traveling salesman here to spend an hour mourning his dying profession. Maybe he's a starving artist, or a well-off computer programmer. Maybe he's an angel of the Lord. Maybe he doesn't know he's looking for Dean, or maybe he does. But he sees that prettyboy from across the bar. And there's nothing magical about Dean. His hair doesn't shine in the dim yellow lights, there's no mirror over the bar to catch his eye in, he's wearing a t-shirt and jeans. But he's smiling and laughing and his drink has an extra garnish, and this whole town knows him. Dean is happy, carefree and he _belongs_.

There's a silence inside that man, whoever he is, if he wears a linen shirt or a rumpled business suit or a sequined dress. There's a silence inside and Dean breaks it with a clang.

And after that, a lot more happens too.


End file.
